


Tea and Biscuits

by Valeria2067



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Grief/Mourning, M/M, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-30
Updated: 2012-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-30 08:11:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valeria2067/pseuds/Valeria2067
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John continues to live at 221b despite (or because of) the pain Sherlock's loss causes. One evening, he finds something different in the flat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tea and Biscuits

Every time John turns the key to the flat, he feels an ice-cold stab of pain right through his heart.

“You should move out of there, John,” Lestrade had told him, “Why would you put yourself through that every day?”

John had just shrugged.  He couldn’t tell him the real reason: that he  _needed_ to have that intense pain. It was the only way he knew his heart was still there at all.

This evening, the key turns a bit more quickly and smoothly.

Not that John notices; he’s still wincing from the jolt. Still catching his breath and straightening his shoulders. Still preparing for the sight of a sitting room which seems more like a mausoleum.

A mausoleum with a tea tray, a steaming cup of Earl Grey, and a plate of ginger biscuits laid out carefully on the coffee table.

“What the—?” John scans the room but sees nothing else out of the ordinary. “Mrs. Hudson?” he calls.  “Mrs. Hudson, did you…..”

John throws his jacket onto the sofa and looks more closely at the tea tray.

There’s a tiny card next to the cup.  In tight, block letters, it reads “Drink Me.” 

Next to the biscuits, he sees a similar one. “Eat Me.”

John purses his lips.  “Right.  _Alice in Wonderland_ , now. Okay.”

The lettering looks a bit like Mycroft’s, but that makes no sense. John wouldn’t put it past Mycroft to drug him, or even to poison him, for that matter, but he could NOT wrap his mind around the idea of Mycroft bothering to hand-write the notes that went with it.

John looks at the tea and biscuits again. It could be nothing, just a treat left my Mrs. Hudson or Mrs. Turner.  Then his mind flashes back to three words in a text message years ago.  **-** _Could be dangerous._

“What the Hell,” he tells himself, and he downs the slightly-cooled tea in one sip, places a ginger biscuit in his mouth.

By the time he’s finished with the second biscuit, he feels a strange wave of calm sweep over him. His limbs even seem a bit heavier. If he has indeed just taken poison, then at least this isn’t the worst way to go. 

For some reason, however, he notices that he is completely clear-headed. Not tired, not dizzy. In fact, he is almost hyper-aware of his surroundings.

“Hello, John.”

No. No, he’s wrong about being clear-headed. He has to be. Because that voice…

“You should probably sit down. I know this is a shock”

John turns his head toward the voice and sees the ghostly, yet familiar figure. A bit more pale than he remembers, a bit thinner, more of an auburn tint to the hair, but still, without a doubt, the ghost of Sherlock.

“Am I dead?” John asks. His voice sounds oddly calm, even to him.

“No, John. Not at all.” The ghost-Sherlock moves and lays a pale hand on John’s shoulder. “You are very much alive. As am I.”

Suddenly, the feeling of calm starts to wear off. John can feel himself trembling, even feel a few tears beginning to well in his eyes.

“How?” he asks, his voice clipped but still tinged with amazement, relief… and anger.

“I needed to die to be free of him, John. Moriarty’s people had to believe I was dead, and for your own safety, you had to believe I was dead, too. But his network is gone, now. It’s safe to —”

The words cut off just as John’s fist connects with Sherlock’s jaw. Sherlock staggers sideways from the force, but before he can right himself, John is pushing him back toward the wall.

“You fucking BASTARD! How dare you! How fucking DARE you.” Sherlock sidesteps, just barely able to evade John’s next clumsy swing.  

“Careful, John. You’ve been sedated. I thought it was best -“

John launches toward Sherlock and grabs the taller man by the collar. “You THOUGHT? No. I don’t want to hear a fucking thing you thought, d’you understand me?  How could you…. how could you think…”  Despite John’s best efforts, he cannot stifle the sobs escaping between some of the words. “I would rather have DIED, Sherlock!  I would rather… have died with you…. God, I did.. I died, then, I….” 

Despite the sedative, John is still strong enough and clear-headed enough to hook one leg behind Sherlock’s and knock him backward onto the floor.  John still holds tight to Sherlock’s collar, and he lands on top of his once-dead friend.

Astonished pale eyes look up at him. “John, I had no idea it would affect you so deeply.  I knew it would hurt you, and that is the one thing I regret most, but I also knew you were strong. Please, John, believe me, it was-“

“NO!” John shouts at the top of his lungs.

Sherlock’s face goes even more pale.

John’s fingers tighten their grip on Sherlock’s collar. “NO, GODDAMN YOU, NO! I will NEVER believe you again, Sherlock! Do you hear me? I will never… NEVER…. never…” his words dissolve completely this time. He drops his forehead against Sherlock’s as his own body is wracked with sobs.

Slowly, very slowly, Sherlock’s arms move up and wrap around John. He can feel John’s tears, taste them as well.  

“I am so sorry. So sorry, John…”

John’s weeping subsides, but his breathing is still ragged. He makes no attempt to lift his head or to open his eyes.

“Will you,” he stops to swallow hard, then begins again. “Will you stay… this time, Sherlock?  Tell me now, okay?  Tell me you’ll stay, even if it puts me in danger. Even if it means I die, Sherlock, that’s what I’m saying. Because if you can’t promise me that, then I can’t… I just can’t be…”

“Look at me, John. Please.”

John lifts his head a bit and opens his eyes. Sherlock’s face is tight with pain, but his jaw is set with determination. 

“I can’t promise I will stay, but I can promise you this. If I ever leave again, you will come with me. Can that… will that work?  Will that be alright?”

“Yeah.. yeah, that works,” John says leaning up on one elbow and wiping his eyes with his other hand. “Oh, Christ. I feel dizzy…”

“Well, you  _have_  been drugged. And you’ve suffered a serious emotional shock.”

“Yeah. That’s true. Jesus, Sherlock.” John manages a weak laugh. “You’re really here. You came back to London.”

Sherlock moves his hands up along either side of John’s face.

“No. I didn’t come back to London. I couldn’t care less about London.”

He pulles John down and captures his mouth in a gentle but heartfelt kiss.

“I came back to  _you_.”

**Author's Note:**

> From a prompt by allhailqueenmycroft on Tumblr


End file.
